His one sweet child. Claudia, thy love, thy duty,
Thy very name, is gone. Thou are another's;
Thou hast a master now; and I have thrown
My precious pearl away. Yet men who give
A living daughter to the fickle will
Of a capricious bridegroom, laugh--the madmen!
Laugh at the jocund bridal feast, and weep
When the fair corse is laid in blessed rest,
Deep, deep in mother earth. Oh, happier far,
So to have lost my child!


FICKLE GREATNESS.


Thou art as one
Perched on some lofty steeple's dizzy height,
Dazzled by the sun, inebriate by long draughts
Of thinner air; too giddy to look down
Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare
The long descent to the low depths from whence
The desperate climber rose.


RIENZI'S ORIGIN.


There's the sting,--
That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar
The reverend worm, nobility! Wouldst shame me